


The Boy Next Door

by quietScribe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 00:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietScribe/pseuds/quietScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Jake English had always thought his next door neighbor Dirk Strider to be a rip-roaring and capital, however eccentric, fellow. What happens when feelings emerge for his secretive neighbor? PS: I'm terrible at summaries. DISCONTINUED.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mysterious Mister Strider

Jake English had always thought his next door neighbor Dirk Strider to be a rip-roaring and capital, however eccentric, fellow. It was an otherwise quiet suburbia that surrounded them in that little town in Wisconsin. Jake, however, delighted in Dirk's irregular antics. Crowds would gather from miles around just to see him water his cactus, like he was some celebrity.

As Jake peeked out from his blinds to an identical window just across the yard, he could see why. Dirk was a master of mechanics. With nary a year spent in any sort of technical school, he was getting calls from all over the nation for his superior robot models, and occasionally, for a lecture on time travel.

Despite his cocky, devil-may-care outward appearance and mannerisms, Dirk was a private person. Sometimes Jake would invite him over for pizza and a Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff marathon. However, Dirk was hesitant to share his own living space. From what Jake could see of his two-story house, which was very sleek and turn of the century, the upper floor held a nondescript living room, with some moderately-priced electronics, including speakers and a television, even a gaming console. There was also a well used couch. The entire space was immaculately clean. Dirk was never one to shirk details.

As Jake pondered the intricacies of Dirk's house, his eyes came to rest on Dirk's mailbox. The doohickey was up, which meant only one thing: Mail.

Jake yawned, stretched, and threw on his favorite green flannel button-up. Maybe today would finally be the day he would unearth the secret, masculine god-cave of the Strider, have a good wrestle, and then snort at hipsters on the internet. It would be the ultimate bromance.

He made a note to never use the term 'bromance' in future inner monologues, and proceeded down the steps to the foyer.

On the way out to the mailbox, Jake chuckled, recalling the various ways in which he had received mail. Dirk had a habit of 'rescuing' Jake's junk mail, folding it into paper planes, and sending it cruising right into Jake's bedroom on the second floor. Usually, they contained smartass remarks from the blonde. Sometimes, though, they would contain messages like 'chill?' indicating that he wanted to hang out, or still other times, messages that Jake could have sworn were legitimately heartfelt.

Dirk, however, was an enigma. For all his proverbial pulling of legs, Jake could never quite separate the genuine from the comical. Though he would never, ever tell him, Jake had kept a handful of the more headache-inducing epistles for a rainy day. Sometimes he'd spend hours poring over them, trying to deduce the true meaning behind them. It was maddening, but Jake preferred to think of it as a great adventurous mystery, waiting to be solved, much like the bedazzling and dangerous puzzles of one of his favorite adventure movies: Indiana Jones.

It was a gorgeous spring day, with nary a cloud to disturb the vast azure sky. A crisp breeze swept through the quiet suburb as he plodded to Dirk's mailbox. They were friendly neighbors, Dirk and Jake. They often did the courtesy of dropping each other's mail in their respective slots; more often than not, one or the other was away due to a college lecture, or in Dirk's case, volunteering at the robotics museum.

Most people would have thought that a man as intelligent—and astoundingly cool, by most people's definition—wouldn't bother with something so charitable. However, if there was one thing that Dirk possessed, more than a seemingly infinite amount of edgy hipster greatness, it was heart. Dirk loved giving tours of the robotics museum, especially during the school year, when the elementary schools had their field trips. He always had an ear turned for any questions from the kids, whether it be serious or silly. The other staff were consistently astounded that he never got tired of the same questions, one in particular.

"Why are you here?" the little boys and girls would ask. Surely someone so smart and beloved had better things to do. He would always give them the same answer:

"Because it's not time to go yet."

They would always pry for an answer why, and when, and what for. He would only smile and usher them out the doors, back to the big yellow school bus, much to their protest.

Jake, on the other hand, still attended college, and probably would for the next decade at the rate he was going. Majoring in paleontology required intense study, but try fitting that in with trips to the gun range and wrestling, and sometimes it just didn't work out so well. He managed to scrape by with A's, somehow. Dirk usually credited his freakish capacity for remembering things, almost like he'd already done it once before. He just couldn't settle for a sample of knowledge; Jake was always hungry for more. Besides, after his Nana died, and left him a considerable sum of money, he had vowed to use it to better himself, rather than purchase frivolous items.

Jake hadn't always lived in the tiny Wisconsin suburb. He was originally an exchange student from England, and had decided to settle in Wisconsin for several reasons, the cheese ranking pretty high on the list. In all seriousness, Jake admired the American people and their pride, their love of freedom, music, and a friend he'd met online years ago, when he was first exploring the exchange program. The name timaeusTestified was very close to Jake.

He had greatly enjoyed his host family; the Crocker's were kindly folk. It felt almost like he had never left home a lot of the time. He and Jane shared the same passion for roguish adventures, she with her suspense and mystery, and he with his gritty hellfire bravado. They had fit together like a glove. Jane still came to visit sometimes, always with some sort of baked confection. Jake always looked forward to her macaroons. She always seemed to be on the verge of telling him something right before she left, but then she would just smile a little wider and hop into her vintage Volkswagen Beatle. He'd given up on trying to understand women a long time ago, no matter how entrancing they were. All those mixed messages and double meanings drove him up the wall.

He'd had the odd date here and there, a couple of semi-steady girlfriends, and once he tried a one night stand. College had a way of bringing out the wilder side of people, and Jake was not much of an exception. He'd just been worlds more gentlemanly than most. Now, he was the second-most eligible bachelor in the suburb, next to Dirk of course. There were days when he genuinely enjoyed being single—he could walk around the house naked if he wanted, he didn't have to share a bathroom or his bed, nor his food, and the whole place was decorated to his own personal tastes.

He boasted a large gun collection, almost all of them classic guns from the forties onward, but he also kept a smattering of more sleek and modern models, and the more nostalgic early 1900s models. Most had been inherited from his Nana, but a select few he'd bought himself. His favorite, though, was the Trojan. It was an eloquent .45, with just the right mix of classic and contemporary. Besides that, he kept a few mounted heads in his living room from various hunting trips with his bullet-carrying babies. Whenever he went out hunting, he imagined himself as a sort of Teddy Roosevelt, braving rugged mountains despite asthmatic tendencies, and bringing home impressive kills. Roosevelt was a great idol of his, and Jake emulated him in any way he could.

But at the present moment, Jake was at Dirk's mailbox. He tugged the flap, and unsurprisingly, a wad of what Jake liked to call 'funny mail' tumbled out on to the ground. The locals would call it junk mail, or, if they were uppity hipsters—spam. There was, however, one letter enclosed from Dirk's little brother, Dave. It was bereft of any comically inappropriate and utterly ironic doodles, as was per Dave, so it must have been important. Jake decided it would be better to deliver it in person.

His hiking boots made loud clunks on the cement stoop. He jabbed the buzzer with his thumb and waited, rocking back and forth on his feet, half expecting an ambush. To his surprise, and marginal disappointment, Dirk appeared in the doorway in his usual attire. An orange cap seemed to have been slapped on top of his head, with errant tufts of sandy blonde sticking out this way and that. He was clad in a plain grey tee with a dark musical graphic made to look vintage, black athletic shorts, and flip flops. It was a stark contrast to Jake's more formal look, with an open collared shirt in pale green, a plain tee, and khakis.

Jake adjusted his glasses, a broad smile curling his lips. "Dirk, mate. This came in the mail for you. It's from your brother." Even after over five years of living there, Jake retained a lilting accent.

One of Dirk's eyebrows arched over his excessively shiny sunglasses. "Sup," he drawled, lazily swiping the letter from Jake. "My little bro, huh? Must be pretty important if he doesn't even have time to ironically draw a dick across the front." He made a curious huh noise before stuffing it into his pocket. "Thanks." A small smile appeared on his face.

"Hey, also, I was wondering if you were up to anything today?" Jake asked.

"My little bro's got a gig tonight, I was thinking of crashing it," Dirk replied. A smirk curled his lips, showing his dimples. "Wanna come with?"

Jake wasn't much for parties. He always felt uncomfortable in a large group, having been so used to being by himself most of his life. However, Jane had always encouraged him to get out of the house and socialize, however hesitant he might be.

"Are you sure? You know, I'm not overly fond of your brother's… shindigs, I think he calls them?" He scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable, but also not wanting to disappoint Dirk.

"C'mon, this town's two most eligible bachelors, at the biggest party in town, on the same evening? It could only be great. A little whiskey and you'll cut loose just fine."

"You know I abhor that vile concoction." Jake preferred rum or straight scotch. He pulled a face, his eyes pinched and tongue out.

"Aw, c'mon, English, at least be my wingman. I'm gonna need help fending off the mob. Plus, there'll be beer pong. Your favorite game. Whaddaya say, Captain Adventure?"

Jake fiddled with the last button on his shirt, contemplating.

"I do royally kick your ass at pong."

Dirk grinned. "'Atta boy."


	2. Party Like a Rock Star

Jake knew it was going to be just like any other Strider party—sick beats, hard drinks, the who's-who of the whole town—but for some reason, he felt nervous. It was nothing Jake hadn't experienced before; in fact, when Dirk and Jake had first met, it was not long until he'd attended one of these parties. Jake had had a pretty awesome time, got completely hammer drunk, and kicked Dirk's ass at beer pong. So why was he so nervous now?

He must have changed at least three times before settling on his favorite party number. Jake looked himself over in the mirror. A collared, long-sleeved shirt covered him in a royal blue color. A sky blue vest overlapped it, complete with a tie. His slacks were nothing flashy, just pleated and black. He rarely wore this combination of colors, but this seemed like a special occasion. Was it overkill? Maybe, but Jake felt there was going to be something different about that night. Besides, it was ideal to wear something as conservative as possible; Roxy was bound to invent some sort of game involving the removal of clothing.

Jake and Dirk had decided carpooling would be the ideal method of transportation. In the worst-case scenario, Jake would have to drive them home, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. They pulled up to the party in Dirk's Mustang, since he'd refused to have Jake take his Jeep over for reasons that Jake could not fathom.

Dirk had opted for a much more casual outfit than Jake, with some faded and torn jeans, a flashy belt, a bright orange tee, over which he donned a button-up white dress shirt. As usual, his cap was planted firmly on his head, complete with shades.

"You had to wear the shades, too, didn't you?" Jake teased as they pulled up to the fancy venue—a luxurious loft across town, owned by one of the town's bigwigs.

"Can't have my little bro think he's cooler than me, now, can we?" was Dirk's simple reply. Shaking his head, Jake stepped out of the car. He could hear the bass thrumming from the street. He was instantly glad he had worn what he did—it was a little chilly out that evening. The pair of them trotted up the steps to the door, and the predictable happened.

"THIS IS MY JAM!" screeched a familiar bubbly voice. Jake's favorite tipsy blonde was doing an awkward dance atop a keg, a martini sloshing onto her shoes. Nicki Minaj's "Starships" was blaring over Dave's top-of-the-line speaker system. Jake could not help but chuckle. Of course Roxy would be at the biggest party in town—if only for the alcohol and ensuing shenanigans. To say the place was packed was an understatement. There was a veritable sea of bodies from the door, across the expansive living area to the kitchen. Somehow, they had made room for a pong table, which was empty.

Jake had to politely elbow and squeeze through the mass, but he did eventually reach Roxy, almost losing his glasses in the process.

"Roxy, darling, I knew you'd be here," he shouted over the music, shooting her two pistols and a wink.

"Jakey, baby! How're you doin'?" she slurred, flinging her arms around him. He could smell the sharp bite of vodka and cranberry on her. Jake could only laugh, it was typical Roxy.

He scanned the room, looking for any sign of familiar faces, but it was nigh impossible with the sheer number of people here. He decided instead to head straight to the kitchen, where he knew there would be stocks of liquid courage. Jake had the feeling he would need it before the night was over.

It was in the kitchen that he found Jane, holding a red cup with something colorful in it, as was her usual. She was chatting with a younger boy who looked strikingly similar to Jake, the only difference being his eyes were a piercing cerulean. He had a slightly upturned nose and a very small overbite. If Jake hadn't known better, he'd say he was thirteen. It was Jane's cousin, John.

Jane looked up as Jake entered. Her face lit up as she saw him, and she rushed over. Her face was slightly pink. Roxy must have snuck some harder liquor into her beverage when she wasn't looking. Or maybe that was just how she had always looked and Jake had never noticed. Her dark hair was slightly disheveled; one of her locks had fallen over her sky blue eyes. Jake would have found her quite fetching had they not been like family.

"Jake! It's so good to see you!" Jane exclaimed, practically crushing him in a hug. "How long has it been? A year? Two?"

Jake chuckled and patted her gently. "It's been quite a while since we've been at the same Strider party, yes. I hope you've been doing well, my dear," he replied jovially. Jane beamed.

"Hey, Jane, we should get him a drink," piped John, nodding at Jake's empty hands. Jake tilted his head in greeting, offering him a lopsided grin. That John was a character, and quite the prankster.

Jane leapt from Jake as if electrified, and busied herself with the array of bottles that covered every inch of available counter space. Jake, being the gentleman he was, touched her shoulder gently, assuring her he could mix his own alcoholic concoction. She was quite sweet, but once she had a bit of drink in her, Jane had the tendency to overshoot the liquor to mixer ratio. However, she politely receded from the counter and once again engaged John in conversation as Jake mixed a rum and coke. He took a hearty swig, and, satisfied with the mixture, bid the two of them farewell, proceeding back into the living room.

The music number had changed to something slightly slower, so the crowd was at least easier to navigate. Jake sidled up behind one end of the pong table, rolling his shoulders and testing the balls—custom made to feature Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff. His favorite sparring partner had disappeared somewhere in the depths of the flat, but he'd be hard to miss once returned—darn those blasted shades of his. He could see his younger brother, the spitting image of him in every way, behind an expensive looking sound system, spinning records like it was second nature, which, to Jake, it more than likely was.

Standing off to one side was a prim blonde dressed all in black, with soft pink eyes. So, Rose had finally decided to show up to one of these parties. Jake never pegged her for the party type, but he had cause to believe, with the way she was looking at Dave, that she had at least one good incentive. He had to smile to himself. Despite their similarities, the two were not related, as much as they acted like brother and sister. Jake was glad that Rose had finally started to take notice of Dave. The kid was too closed off for his own good. He watched for a moment as she sipped from her drink daintily, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Jake could have sworn he saw Dave glance at her for a moment with the same smile.

"That's the spirit," Jake muttered to himself as he bounced the ping pong ball against the table.

It was then that he noticed how many couples were really at the party. There was no shortage of women, but they all seemed to be attached to some strapping young man or other. He felt a small pang of loneliness in his chest. It wasn't that he minded being alone, but consarn it if he wouldn't like the occasional cuddle and a kiss every now and again. The whole scene was not helping his mood. He decided instead to focus on finding his elusive quarry.

Seemingly on cue, a spiky head of blonde hair surfaced in the crowd, drink aloft, sunglasses intact. Some redheaded girl was hanging on his arm, and a brunette on his other. Though he was smiling, someone as intimately familiar with him as Jake could see he was anything but happy. The noticeable lack of creased flesh around his eyes indicated he wanted a way out, and fast. He could tell Dirk was looking for him.

"Oy!" Jake called from the other side of the room. Dirk's head whipped around so fast that his shades nearly went flying. Jake felt a chill course through him. It gave him the heebie-jeebies, the way that playboy could pierce him with a gaze, even from behind that ridiculous accessory.

The way Dirk cut through the crowd was like Moses and the Red Sea. He had a way with maneuvering his body in such a way that it was half a dance, half combat exercise, all the while not spilling a drop of his drink. Jake chuckled, shaking his head. The guy had skill, and looked classy on top of it. Dirk ran a gloved hand through his hair, visibly exhaling.

"You saved my ass with that one, English," he said, smoothing the front of his shirt.

"I thought you liked being the center of attention," Jake replied shrewdly, sipping his drink. It was mostly gone, and a buzz was staring to kick in.

"I told you, wingman, that I'd need some help fending off the mob," Dirk retorted in exasperation. "But thanks, one more minute and I probably would have been kidnapped and never heard from again."

"Cheers, mate," Jake grinned, toasting him sarcastically and emptying his cup.

"THE PONG FACE OFF HAS BEGUN!" bellowed Roxy, appearing suddenly between Dirk and Jake, a fresh drink in her hand. "Gen'lmen, if you'd jus' remove your upper clothing, we'll start this he-man comp'tission," she went on, shoving a fresh rum and coke into Jake's hand from God only knew where.

"What?" Dirk and Jake chimed together. Jake blinked a few times, not sure if he had heard her correctly.

Instantly, a crowd surged forward, surrounding them on all sides. Every eye was on Jake, Dirk, and their array of cups. There was a highly uneven ratio of women to men, Jake noticed.

"House rules, Jakey poo!" Roxy chirped sweetly, throwing an arm around him casually and running a milky white index finger down his vest. She giggled, snorting quietly. "Any two guys that play pong, hafta do it shirtless."

"I'm quite sure that is complete and utter bullshit," Jake replied, smiling nervously. He was not keen on stripping at any time, and hardly in front of an expectant crowd.

"Roxy—" Dirk began in a warning tone, but Roxy cut him off with a finger to his lips.

"Shoosh, or I'll hafta kick you guys out. Now play!"

"Why do I get the feeling you made that up just now? Oh, it's because you just did," Dirk said in mock surprise.

A roar of catcalls, whistles, and sportsmanlike jeers erupted from the crowd, but the loudest were the screams from the girls. Jake sighed, wanting to sink into the floor. He looked up at Dirk—his mouth was a thin line.

In an instant, though, Dirk got his groove back. "All right, let's fucking do it, then," he challenged. There was an explosion of cheering as he shrugged off his overshirt and pulled his tee over his head, revealing his slim, toned physique. Jake thought he saw the top of some smuppet boxers peeking out from his jeans.

Jake froze as all eyes turned to him. He felt like one of the animals in his various hunting traps back home; he swallowed hard.

"Oh, all right then," he sputtered meekly. There was a surge of cheering again. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his vest as quickly as he could manage, but still not quickly enough to avoid more wolf whistles and all of that other nonsense. After what seemed like an agonizingly long time, Jake stood similar unclothed.

"Nice tan lines," Dirk smirked. Jake had forgotten how much time he'd been spending outside during that summer. He sniffed.

"Let's do this," he snapped, game face on. A hush fell over the crowd as they began the staple of every drinking party.

"Ladies first," Dirk jeered, grinning.

Jake, not wanting to let his comrade's one-up nature get the best of him, decided to start things off with a bang. He stood with his side facing the table, swigged from his drink—cripes, what did Roxy put in that?—and lofted a ball easily. It landed with a soft splash into the center cup of Dirk's pyramid. He never once looked up.

There was an eruption of cheers and congratulations. Jake couldn't help but shoot his friend two pistols and a wink. "Is that all you've got, Strider?" A smirk quirked up one corner of Jake's mouth.

Behind his shades, it was impossible to tell Dirk's reaction, if there even was one. His mouth was an unreadable line. He rolled his shoulders and head, loosening up. "Beginner's luck," he replied coolly, not a trace of frustration. His shot of retaliation earned him one of Jake's cups.

The game was afoot.

It went on like this for quite some time. At one point, Jake had Dirk down to a mere three cups to his seven, but Dirk made a miraculous comeback. Or maybe Jake was too drunk to care. Whatever Roxy had put in this drink, it wasn't just a rum and coke. It was starting to hit him hard.

Before they knew it, there were just two cups left between them. It was Dirk's move.

"Well, would you look at that? Not so tough now with only one cup, and it's my turn. You're looking a little flushed, Jakey boy," the blonde goaded. Jake could see he had little ground to stand on though, with his own pale face similarly pink.

"If you make this, I will kiss you on that smart mouth of yours," Jake challenged. Wait, what did he say? Oh dear. He was bitterly reminded of the idiocy that comes with alcohol. His bet did not go unnoticed by the crowd, either. An ooh swept through the crowd. Whistles and catcalls hit the roof. Jake slapped a hand over his mouth, silently berating himself. Dirk paused, and then with a leer, mock bowed to him.

"I'm going to hold you to that, English," he promised.

Seemingly in slow motion, he tossed his ball in a smooth arc towards Jake's last remaining cup. The ball sank, and caught in a spinning motion inside Jake's cup. Normally, Jake would have grabbed for it and fished it out, as per the rules, but he could only stand mutely, frozen. The ball spun for an eternity.

It flew out of the cup and on to the floor.

Jake breathed a sigh of relief. If he had actually had to go through on his bet, there would be a Facebook upload from Roxy later that evening, as 'proof.'

There was a mixture of sighs of frustration and cheering as the ball landed. Jake would have tugged at his collar, had he been more fully clothed. He looked up at Dirk, eyes wide.

Dirk's face leaned toward neither disappointment nor relief. Jake made a mental note to practice neutral expressions. This guy was a pro at being inscrutable.

"Your turn, Jake," Dirk said, snapping Jake back to reality. Jake downed the last of his liquid courage; he felt like he was going to need it.

Dirk's cup blurred in and out of focus, and it probably was only partly due to Jake's glasses being askew. He shut one of his eyes, trying to focus on his target. He lobbed the ball. It landed with a soft plink in Dirk's cup.

Dirk tipped his hat to Jake. "Well played."

With the game at an end, the crowd dispersed. Jake pounded Dirk's fist from across the table, a nervous smile on his lips.

"Good game, Dirk. You almost had me there," he said as jovially as he could. Why did his throat feel so tight all of a sudden? Maybe he was going to be sick.

"Yeah, it was a good match. Hey, you're looking a little uneasy. You gonna be sick or something?" Dirk asked, his eyebrows peeping over his shades.

"I think Roxy has her mixer-to-alcohol ratio off, yeah," Jake replied, chuckling dryly. Come to think of it, he did feel rather ill, and not just from his narrowly-avoided lip-locking match with Dirk. "'Scuse me, chap," he said as politely as he could as he stumbled to the bathroom. Dirk could only shake his head, half in amusement, half in exasperation. Jake always drank too much, too fast.

A few minutes later, Jake reappeared, sweating slightly, but otherwise looking okay. "You all right, Jake?" Dirk asked. Jake nodded weakly. "Should we just head back?" More nodding. It was probably for the best.

Bidding their friends good night, Jake and Dirk piled into Dirk's car. It was close to four AM. "Maybe we should just stay," Jake offered wisely.

"Nah, it's just across town, and I feel fine. We'll be okay," Dirk answered, starting the engine. Jake slumped in the passenger seat, eyes drifting closed. He felt a nagging dizziness, like everything was spinning uncontrollably.

"Thanks, mate," Jake mumbled, running a hand over his face and knocking his glasses askew.

The car ride was quiet except for Avenged Sevenfold playing on Dirk's radio. Jake was still trying to warm up to them, preferring the classic bands like AC/DC, Metallica, Guns 'n Roses, and Iron Maiden, but they had a distinct sound nonetheless. As they zipped across town, back to their quiet suburban neighborhood, Jake found himself getting lost in the music. He thought he had heard Dirk mention the title of this one—was it The Wicked End? It wasn't his cup of tea, but the lyrics were profound. Or maybe he was just wasted.

They pulled up to the curb. Dirk jumped out and slid across the hood to the passenger side. He yanked open the door and Jake practically collapsed out of it. Okay, he was definitely wasted. Jake was bonkers if he thought he'd drink again anytime soon. Dirk caught his arm and hoisted him carefully to his feet.

"All right, easy does it. Come on, dude," Dirk whispered gently as Jake swayed. Jake thought he muttered some sort of thank you—after all, a gentleman always thanks people for their help—as he leaned heavily on Dirk's shoulder.

The trek up Jake's driveway seemed to take an eon, and the stairs, an epoch. Jake tripped once or twice going up the stairs, swearing profusely each time. Dirk only shushed him and hefted him into a more secure position.

"Hey, look, we made it!" Dirk said cheerily as they reached the top of the mountain known as Jake's stairs. Dirk practically dragged Jake to his bedroom, carefully placing him on the edge of his canvas-colored bedspread. Jake eyelids flicked blearily.

"I'm terribly sorry, friend," Jake said. His voice was muffled from sleep and alcohol. "This is most unbecoming."

Dirk only smiled. Somewhere along the trek, he had removed his shades. Jake thought he saw a hint of orange, but he was more than likely just hallucinating from being half-drunk and exhausted. "No worries, buddy," Dirk assured him. "Wait right here, okay?"

In a few minutes, Dirk returned with a cup of water, ice clinking inside the glass. "Drink this," he asked softly. Jake complied; the water soothed his growing cottonmouth and seemed to settle his stomach a bit.

"You're a real knight in shining armor, eh, Strider?" Jake managed, a goofy smile on his face.

"I guess that would make you a damsel in distress, if you'll pardon the expression," Dirk answered, chuckling. "Get some sleep, Jake. You gonna be all right?"

"Yes, thanks to you. I owe you one, mate." Jake rubbed his eyes, flopping down unceremoniously on the comforter.

"Nah, this one's on me. G'night, Jake."

"Night, Dirk."

\--

The next morning, Jake awoke with mild grogginess, but otherwise no adverse side effects. His neck felt stiff and his limbs were stretched at odd angles, but all in all, not in bad shape. He squinted at the late morning light streaming through his window. His clock read eleven AM. Jake was usually up and about at eight.

With a groan, he exited his bed and sluggishly made his way to the shower. Fuzzy memories from the previous night buzzed through his mind. His mind drifted to oranges, for some reason. Jake vaguely remembered Dirk helping him up the porch. He had dreamt of a medieval fantasy sometime that night, and in some ridiculous bout of mental foolery, he had been a princess, and Dirk, his hero. Shaking his head at the ridiculous notion, he shrugged off his clothes and stepped into the shower, a simple standup piece, but it had a nozzle that was directly attached to the ceiling for a perfectly vertical flow. The water was hot, just the way he liked it, and it helped to soothe his aching limbs.

He turned over the previous night's events, starting with the party, trying to sift through the jumble of fuzzy, drunken memories. The potential tongue-wrestling match forced its way to the face of his thoughts. Not that it would have been like that—why did he keep thinking about it that way? Dirk was his best friend, and a good looking guy, even by Jake's completely heterosexual standards. Maybe he wasn't so straight-laced. No, he was definitely just over-thinking this, just like he did with everything else.

Suddenly he remembered the way that Dirk had brought him up the stairs and set him in bed, bringing him a cup of water. It was a tender gesture, not very bro-like of him. He couldn't remember him being so gentle, not with him. So why now?

It was too much to think about for the present moment. He decided instead that he would pay Jane a visit later in the week, probably Sunday. Of all of his friends, he felt he could confide his more troubling thoughts to her. Besides, he owed her after the many trips she'd made to his house with her sinfully delicious baked goods.

Yes, they would have a chat, and everything would be fine.

Or so he thought.


	3. In Bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: This chapter contains mature content. You have been warned. I also apologize for this chapter; I had a lot of conflicted feelings about uploading this, especially with the aforementioned content and Jake's dialogue. Please be gentle with critique, I hope you enjoy!

It was a bit of a drive—a half-hour, tops, but Jake didn't mind. He owed her a visit after her many trips to his place. When he pulled up in her driveway, only her Beatle was parked. Her parents must have gone out for the afternoon. Jake paused to admire the perfectly manicured lawn and garden out front before bounding up the steps. The smell of tulips brought back many memories. He knocked a few times, but there was no answer; surely Jane must be home. Normally, she would fly to the door if there was a visitor; she hated keeping people waiting, so this was unusual. Plus, the doorbell was broken. He supposed she wouldn't mind if he let himself in—besides living there for a year, and being like family in every way but blood, the door was unlocked.

"Hello? Jane?" Jake called softly up the stairs. When there was still no answer, he figured she must be in her room with her headset on. She couldn't hear anything when she had that infernal device on her head. However, Jake viewed this rare opportunity as a way to make it at even bigger surprise for her.

Even after not living in the Crocker household for so long, Jake knew every creaking floorboard of the place. He crept up the stairs, skipping the second stair from the top, and loped down the hall. Her room was the middle door on the left. Suddenly, he stopped. He thought he heard a noise coming from Jane's room. He listened carefully. Was it crying? No, it was… a groan, he thought. Perplexed, he listened again. There was a wet sound. His heart began to pound. His palms were sweating. Her doorway was ajar. He didn't want to look, he really didn't, but he found himself peeking in through the open space.

Her room was exactly the same as he remembered it, with her powder blue comforter, covered in a pattern resembling rabbit heads. It was a four-poster bed with a canopy. Jake and Jane had spent many an evening in that room playing Monopoly, and sometimes studying together. The scene before him was in such stark contrast that he could scarcely believe it was real.

Jane sat, unclothed from the waist down, a brightly colored object in one hand and a square, flat object like a photograph in the other. Her shoulders were shaking, her eyes closed. Jane's mouth hung open in a way Jake had never seen before.

He covered his mouth and splayed himself flat against the wall. This was his sister, for all intents and purposes, but it seemed the growing tent in his shorts didn't care. He tried to ignore the way her face had looked, with her lips moist and shining as she breathed. Her whimpers drifted out to the hallway and his ears.

"Jake," came a soft, needy voice. It was unlike any word Jake had heard her utter. He almost yelped from shock, but it came out in a strangled breath instead. Suddenly he could not form coherent thoughts. All he knew was that his foster sister, merely feet away, was saying his name—and God, that was probably his picture! And why in the blue blazes did he enjoy it?

Jake felt dirty, ill, and horribly gratified all at once. It was this that she'd been hiding from him, after all this time? She couldn't have told him? Now it all made sense. How could he have been so foolish? This would not do.

He had to get out of there before she caught on to his presence. The last thing he needed, on top of a guilt-boner, was discovery. Luckily—or perhaps not so luckily—for him, Jane began to moan louder, with intermittent gasps. He tried with difficulty to ignore the rush of blood to his nether regions and tiptoed down the hall, the stairs, and finally the door.

It took every last ounce of Jake's self-control not to peel out of the driveway. He took several deep, slow breaths, drumming his fingers at what seemed to be light speed before he could leave quietly. The drive home was the most awkward one of his life. His brain was whirring full-tilt at what he'd just witnessed. What was he supposed to do now?

Either way, he had a serious boner he had to take care of, whether he liked it or not.

Part of Jake told him to feel good, since the occasional ego-stroke was nothing to get in a twist over. Still another part of him told him to be ashamed, to feel sorry. It was only natural given what he'd witnessed, and as he traipsed up the stairs to his room, he couldn't shake the sense of elation, no matter how guilty he felt.

Jake reached underneath his mattress and pulled out a slightly dogeared magazine, rife with beauties of the cerulean persuasion. He flopped down on his back and removed his glasses. Jake stared up at the ceiling for a moment, silently cursing himself. He laid a tanned and muscular forearm over his face and exhaled slowly. Only a moment passed before he sank into that deep, dark place within himself. A growl breached his throat and he curled his lip.

As he neared his climax, he told himself over and over again that there was nothing wrong with him. Jake bit down on his forearm, half for stimulation and half in frustration.

Dirk's face flashed before his eyes as he came.

He gasped and swore loudly. As if the day couldn't get any more awkward.

Tossing the magazine aside, Jake reached for his nightstand, where a box of tissues perched. After mopping himself up, Jake swung his legs over the side of the bed and stared at his laptop, in its usual place on his desk. He needed someone to talk to, but he wasn't sure which of his friends would be able to sit through the confusing muddle known as his current state.

However, Jake had no more time to muse, because his phone rang.

"Cheese and fucking crackers," he grumbled. What more could possibly go wrong? Jake reached into his pocket and flipped open his phone.

"I was wondering if you were free tonight!" she squeaked cheerily into the phone. Jake's gut twisted, both in apprehension and anticipation.

"Jane! Yes, hello, to you too," he answered, clearing his throat.

"I've been dying to go to that fancy place we all went to last fall, when you got that scholarship. I think it was called Cal's?"

Jake remembered all right. It was very upscale, where you were frowned upon if you used the salad fork as a food shovel. Not one person in the place had been wearing casual clothing, except for Jake. He'd felt their disapproving glares on him for the duration of the meal. While delicious, it was quite expensive, and Dirk and Jane had wound up splitting the bill for the four of them, Roxy included.

"Oh, I always thought that place was a bit stuffy for my taste," Jake said as politely as he could, though he winced into the receiver.

"Come on, Jake!" Jane implored. "Things will be better this time, just you and me. I daresay it will be fun!"

Fun. Yeah. About as fun as dying of heatstroke in a suit could really be. He had to humor her, previous events notwithstanding. Jake owed her for all the kindness she'd shown him over the years, and what better way than to treat her to a nice dinner? She was at least conscientious enough not to order the most expensive items on the menu, despite her wealth. What could it hurt? Besides, Jake hadn't seen the girl in a dress since high school prom. As nervous as he was to take her up on the offer, his gentlemanly nature denied him a chance to refuse.

"Of course, Jane. My treat. I daresay I owe you after all these years, right?" He sounded more confident than he felt.

"Great! I'll see you at 9 tonight," she chirped.

"Right-o," he answered. As he heard the soft click of her hanging up, Jake flopped back on his bed, groaning. Great, just great. What in the blue blazes was he supposed to do now? Between walking in on his all-but-blood sister, and Dirk crossing his mind during his own alone time, he felt like screaming. Why did all of this have to happen now?

Jake hopped out of bed and faced his full-length mirror, glaring daggers at himself. He was not about to let all of this get to him.

"Jake English, you are a MAN," he growled. He curled his lip, feeling just a tad bit better. What sort of adventurous fellow would he be if his collar tightened over some silly fantasy or date? Not a very good one, that's what.

Much more reassured, Jake busied himself with polishing his guns, as he usually did to calm himself down. There was something about the meticulous task of cleaning ever thumbprint and spot that helped him to detach from the more stressful aspects of his existence and just absorb himself in something mundane and inconsequential.

Once his firearms were adequately spotless, Jake turned the knob of his narrow walk-in closet. He pulled the chain for the single hanging bulb and squinted in the yellowish light for a suitable outfit. Going to Cal's meant his finest getup; nothing else would suffice.

His beryl eyes settled on a slightly dusty number. It was simple as far as formalwear was concerned—a black two-piece suit with green pinstripes, complete with a green satin kerchief in the breast pocket. Underneath he would wear a matching silk green shirt and a solid black vest with an accompanying bowtie. Jake was pleased to see that the emerald cufflinks—shaped like skulls, but otherwise hardly noticeable—still retained their glimmer.

Jake looked himself over in the mirror. Not a thread out of place. His only real concern was his hair, which no matter what he did to it always stuck up in the front. He raked his hands through it in an attempt to smooth it, but it stubbornly refused to yield. At last, Jake conceded defeat and stepped into the bathroom.

Fumbling with the medicine cabinet, he retrieved a full bottle of cologne. The liquid inside would probably last him the next twenty years with how little he used it. He vaguely remembered shopping with Dirk right before the high school prom, when the blonde had tossed him the bottle. He had told him that if he ever dreamed of getting laid, he would need it. The chicks would be drawn to him like a magnet, as he put it.

While Jake was neither thrilled nor against the idea of Jane in such close proximity to his person, especially with the earlier happenings, he figured it would be an appropriate final touch. Besides, the scent would need a little time, both to permeate him and to dissipate. Cologne had that strange property of getting stronger with age. Maybe that was why Jake enjoyed wearing it from time to time.

Jake looked up at his clock. It was seven thirty. With traffic, he guesstimated that he would arrive about half an hour early. He would have time to find a place to park and get them a table, although Jane would more than likely have them set up already—it was one of the perks of being an heiress, he supposed.

Double-checking that his shoes were in order, he climbed into his Jeep. Sure, it wasn't exactly ritzy, but Jake needed an all-purpose vehicle to keep up with his many outdoor interests. Plus, it had air conditioning, which was essential during that year's scorching summer heat.

The parking lot was full to bursting, but Jake wrangled a spot at the far end of it with his aggressive driving, much to the dismay of the driver of the sleek and shiny Mercedes vying for it. Feeling smug, he slid out, smoothing his ensemble.

Once inside, he found Jane's usual table, marked clearly with the Crocker insignia. With every other table filled, he was glad he had this fail-safe. It was located in the center of the restaurant, covered with a white tablecloth and floral centerpiece. Every table was identical and looked small when compared to the ceiling, which reminded Jake of the height of cathedrals. The walls were embellished with curling designs, mostly in gold finish, and every waiter wore spotless white gloves.

It felt downright stuffy. However, Jake was here for Jane, he reminded himself. Pretentiousness be damned. He ordered a glass of water, but when the waiter stared, he quickly substituted it for red wine, requesting a bottle to be brought to the table along with another glass. As he sipped from his glass, he wondered when Jane would arrive; it was becoming steadily uncomfortable to sit alone at this fancy island.

Movement towards the doors caught his eye. Was that a sparkle?

His mouth dropped open.

Was that really Jane?

It was a floor-length dress, strapless, with a modest slit on one side, revealing shapely calves and killer heels. As she navigated the tables towards him, he caught a glimpse of the back; He had never seen such exquisite shoulder blades, nor so much of her back. To say that she was lovely was a gross understatement. Every inch of the dress sparkled. As she sank gracefully into the seat across the table, Jake saw a glimmer of red; even her earrings were gorgeous.

"Jake, if you don't close your mouth, you might just catch a fly," Jane giggled.

He promptly snapped his mouth shut and tugged at his collar as imperceptibly as possible. "My apologies, Jane. You just look so… Well, to be quite honest, you look as ravishing as the red you're wearing!" Jake said as confidently as he could manage. It was jarring to him to see Jane as confident as her wardrobe. He found himself liking it.

"Thank you, Jake. You don't look so shabby, yourself. I haven't seen you wear that in years," Jane answered. Pink dusted her cheeks for a short moment.

So the evening wore on, with much reminiscing of years gone by, what each of them planned for the future, hilarious tales of their childhood, new friends and old. More than once, Jake caught Jane staring at him when she thought he wasn't looking. As flattering as it was, something just didn't feel… right. He adored Jane, he really did, but he just couldn't see anything but a little sister in her.

They exited the restaurant together, filled with the warmth that nostalgia and memories provide, stepping out into the parking lot. Being the gentleman that he was, Jake walked Jane to her car. He kept his hands in his pockets; he felt unsure about them, like he couldn't trust himself. Jane didn't seem to mind, though she was also slightly flushed from the wine—she drank even more seldom than Jake did, and was quite the lightweight.

"Well Jake, it's been a wonderful evening, hoo hoo!" Jane chortled as they reached her vehicle.

"Always a pleasure, Janey," he replied, using his favorite nickname for her. His beryl eyes watched her carefully. "Are you quite sure you're fit to drive?" he asked.

She giggled again, but this time quieter, as she answered. "Not to worry, I've got a handle on myself just fine." Her hand was on the driver's side door, but she stopped, her gaze resting on the mirror. A heavy silence engulfed them.

"Jane?" he said after a moment, his tone hesitant.

"Do you think…" said Jane slowly, with a measured tone, "that we could be…" Her voice trailed off. Jake thought her heard her voice shake.

"Could be what?" He knew the answer. He'd been waiting for this to happen, but it didn't mean that he was even remotely ready to hear what came next.

"Together. You, me… seeing each other?" Her words were hollow, like they had been rehearsed, and with a pang, Jake realized she'd probably practiced them over and over, in front of her bathroom mirror, like she used to for her French oral exams.

Jake tried to weigh his words, to find some sort of combination that would make him sound gentle, or positive, or even remotely optimistic. It was never that easy, though. He ran a hand through his hair and pinched the bridge of his nose, contemplating.

"Jane."

She turned to him slowly, as if it were suddenly very difficult to look at him, like she was trying to face a murder scene as opposed to her foster brother. Jake had a painful revelation that she was about to cry if he wasn't careful. He'd sooner have wrestled with a lion.

Nonetheless, his warrior spirit told him he had to face this like every other obstacle: head on.

He put his hands on her shoulders, gripping them firmly, but not with force. With great difficulty, he looked her straight in the eye. His next words were forcefully calm, even, and slow.

"Jane, you are lovely. We've been through very much together, you and I. Without your generosity, kindness, and—dare I say it—love, I would just be some bumbling tourist of the States."

When Jane did not respond, he took a deep breath and continued.

"I adore you, Jane, I really do. You're just about the most ripsnorting, tough-as-nails lass I've ever had the pleasure to share in company." He swallowed hard. "You're also my sister. And like any good brother, I want to protect you from any harm that may befall you, even if… even if it's from me."

"What do you mean?" Jane said finally. She seemed to come back to life, though her eyes told Jake she was afraid.

"It's bollocks, Jane," he said, with more force than he intended. Still, he wasn't about to back down now. Jane deserved honesty. "To be completely honest with you, I couldn't take my eyes off you tonight. You've blossomed. I am not in any position to interfere with that."

"What are you talking about?" The way her brow knit in confusion made Jake's heart ache.

"I am your brother, Jane. I may not be as much in blood, but by golly if it isn't true." Jake felt his mind shift into overdrive. He couldn't stop words from pouring out. "Let me rake the honesty coals a bit."

Jane nodded mutely.

"I would be a first-class fraud if I said I hadn't entertained a notion or two about you. Still, we're… family, Jane. Family supports and protects each other. I treasure such qualities in you. When I think of anything more, I… I keep picturing you the night before prom, making some quip about your dress. My place is beside you, with you, but not with you."

He expected her to cry. To hit him, to spit an angry Crocker fireball of furious intent.

"I understand."

Had he heard her correctly? He blinked rapidly.

"Say again?"

Jane smiled. She actually smiled. Jake felt like he was in an episode of the Twilight Zone.

"It's… okay, Jake. I think… I think I'd rather it be this way, come to think of it."

Now it was Jake's turn to stand mute. He vaguely imagined this must have been close to what deer felt like. Still, Jane's eyes were clear, focused, and determined.

"I…" Jane stopped, took a deep breath, and paced her next words. "I would rather have your friendship for the rest of my life, than risk losing it over some half-baked romantics." They were solid, self-assured sentiments. Her jaw was set firmly.

Jake was astounded. Jane really had blossomed. In the five or so years he had known her, he had never once seen this side of her. "I… Well! It looks like I'm due for a bout of speechlessness myself!" he blurted, scratching the back of his neck.

"I can't make you feel something you don't," she said simply, shrugging her shoulders. "It hurts a bit, but… it's nothing I won't get over. Just another bump in the road, right? Like a bruise after some fisticuffs." She play-punched his shoulder and gave him her best adventurer tough-guy look.

Jake laughed as a rush of relief washed over him. He had been so caught up, so jarred, that he hadn't ever counted on this. He never counted on Jane growing up like this—it was as if all this time, he had taken her for a still-cocooned butterfly. Jake had never been so happy to be wrong. In truth, he was proud of her.

As he settled into his canvas-colored bedspread that evening, Jake felt content. It was, at the very least, one less stressful escapade to deal with, but… he felt restless, and, though he hated to admit it, lonely.

It took him hours to find sleep, and when he did, he dreamt of chasing after someone important—he wasn't sure whom, but they were always just out of reach, and eerily familiar.


	4. O Brother, Where Art Thou?

"Nngh!"

"Hnngh—"

"Aah…"

"Mnn!"

"Say it."

"Fuck you."

"Say it!"

"OKAY! Okay, uncle. Now get off me."

Jake, smiling triumphantly, rolled off his scrum partner. He wiped his brow, breathing heavily. It had been a much-needed way to blow off steam, and Dirk had been happy to oblige. They were outside, in Jake's backyard, under a gigantic, ancient oak tree. Jake looked up at its branches, content, then turned to his blonde compatriot.

"Been a spell since I bested you in fisticuffs, eh, Strider?"

Dirk propped himself up on his elbows, chest heaving. He reached for his hat, which had been lost to the lawn after Jake's initial charge, and returned it to its proper place on his head.

"Looks like I'll have to step up my game, huh?" he replied, absently brushing grass clippings from his shirt. There was a brief moment of silence, where the pair of them took in the summer heat. Birds chirped merrily in the trees, and the wind rustled their leaves.

Jake felt clear-headed for once; his date with Jane had been a couple weeks ago, and he hadn't spent much time outside the house since then. It was good to spend some time with his bro for a change. Dirk had been busy with the museum tours; they always increased over the summer, but he had managed to get a day off. Jake couldn't remember the last time they'd been able to spend a day like this together. College ate up a lot of his time.

"So, how'd things go with Jane?"

The question set Jake back on his heels. Dirk had never brought up the date before, and he wondered why he would ask now.

"It was a befuddling experience, to say the least," Jake shrugged. He wasn't sure he could accurately describe the mixture of confusion and relief he'd felt. "Jane has turned over a new leaf; she's become a fine young lady."

"Mm," was all Dirk said for a moment. Jake watched his face for some sort of reaction, or hint as to why he was bringing this up, but his stoic expression begat nothing.

Jake was about to ask him to elaborate when he heard a rustle coming from the front yard. Moments later, Dave appeared. His hands were in his pockets, his shades gleaming brightly in the sun.

"What a surprise! Hello there, Dave!" Jake greeted him jovially. Dave nodded to him, but his face was turned towards Dirk.

"Bro, I need to talk to you," he said simply.

Jake looked at Dirk, brow furrowed. Normally, Dave was not so blunt. He genuinely enjoyed Dave's company when he had the chance. Something must have been weighing on his mind.

Dirk's face was impassive. "Sure," he said. "'Scuse me, Jake." He hoisted himself upright, brushing off any lingering grass clippings. His tone was unusually flat. Cold, even.

As Dave and Dirk headed to Dirk's house, Jake also lifted himself to his feet. Curiosity was eating at him, much like at Jane's, but this was something different. Something was wrong.

Jake leaned against the short chain link fence, trying to appear casual. Dirk's windows were open to let in fresh air; he would hear if anything happened.

"What do you want, Dave?" he heard Dirk ask. Jake couldn't see them; they must have been in a room closer to the street. He could hear Dirk trying to sound calm, but it resonated as anything but.

"Did you get my letter?" Dave asked. Jake thought he heard… fear? Was Dave nervous about something?

"Yeah."

"Well?"

"Well what? What do you want me to say, Dave?"

"Fuck if I know, I said what I needed to say in the letter."

Jake could almost hear their blood pressure increasing from his post at the fence; what on Earth was the problem?

"Do you expect me to be okay with this? Is that it? Just like that?"

"You've known about this for a long fucking time, bro. I tried to send you emails, messages, shit, I even sent you a goddamn letter, and you haven't said a fucking word to me."

"Yeah. You wanna know why? Because you were too much of a fucking pussy to just say it to my face."

"Fuck you! That's not what it was about."

"That is _exactly_ what this is about. Or, do you think I'd just be _okay_ with the fact that you're moving away? So you can go and ruin your life in Timbuktu with this girl?"

"You know Rose, you know that she's—"

"I know that she's going to fucking suck the life out of you, Dave. That's what she does. She's going to use you until there's nothing left."

"No, that's a fucking _lie_ and you know it!"

"Oh, is it? Is it really?"

"Yeah it goddamn is! You know what?"

"What? Fucking what, Dave?"

"You're just a jealous prick. A whiny fucking—"

There was a pointed smack, like that of skin against skin, and a sharp cry. Jake heard a clatter and a thud.

"I'm not a little kid anymore, bro! What the fuck is your problem? You want me to just live across town from you, so you can check up on me at your fucking convenience, to make sure I grow up just like you, or something? All fucking proud of me, your little clone! Goddamn it, bro!"

"You stupid little shit!" Dirk yelled. "You see what she's done to you, Dave? This is what I'm fucking talking about! Who was the one that's always been there for you? Who took you to school every day, got your ass in college? I thought I fucking raised you better than this. You arrogant little prick! Fine then, see what the fuck I care when y—!"

Further argument was cut off as a struggle broke out. Dave and Dirk's individual yelling and screaming mixed together in the air. Jake heard glass shattering, another clatter, and what he thought was a chair overturning. A door slammed, and Jake watched as Dave jumped in his car. He could only see the back of him, but he saw him holding his shades, which appeared to be broken. There was a screech as he peeled out of the driveway and punched the gas, leaving the street far behind.

Moments later, Dirk appeared on the front porch, the door wide open. Jake couldn't see his face, but his hands were shaking at his sides.

Jake didn't know what to do. He stood, mute for a moment, gripping the chain link so hard that it dug into his palms. His heart ached for his friend—no, both of them were his friends. So, the least he could do was try to be there for Dirk, since Dave apparently couldn't face him.

He ducked inside as inconspicuously as possible, though he was sure Dirk knew he'd been watching. Gathering up a first aid kit from one of the bathrooms, Jake met Dirk, still immobile, on the porch.

Dirk was looking up towards the trees, he thought. He said nothing as Jake stood at his side, trying to figure out what he was looking at. Behind those shades, though, Dirk was unreadable. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that one lens of the trademark accessory was broken. As curious as Jake was, he felt it was not in good taste nor a necessity to explore. His friend was hurting, and the least he could do was try to patch him up.

"Hey, mate," Jake said softly. "Let's get you put together, shall we?"

Dirk did not reply for a moment, he just stared blankly ahead.

He did, however, turn so that Jake could attend his wounds. Dirk had a cut above one eye, a bruise on his cheek which extended up and behind his shades, and a few scratches on his neck. Jake could only imagine what Dave must look like, but the Strider brothers generally didn't get so physically violent with each other. Not once had Jake ever seen or heard them at each other's throats like this.

As gently as he could, Jake dabbed alcohol onto the cut with a cotton ball. Dirk's lips twitched, but were otherwise a simple line, devoid of feeling. He wondered what was going through his head. It was demanding of Jake's patience, not to ask. Jake respected Dirk too much to inquire directly what had been going on between the two of them, but he knew that Rose was certainly involved.

It was difficult for Jake not to look perturbed as he continued his work on Dirk's sullied face. His mind buzzed incessantly, trying to figure out a non-invasive question, or some humorous remark to ease Dirk's surely troubled psyche.

"He's gone."

"Yeah, he is." The words sounded so hollow, empty, but Jake couldn't find the right words to say.

"I guess…" Dirk paused and stepped back from Jake, as he finished mending him. The blonde stared down at the cement of the porch. He lifted his hands to his face, relinquishing the cracked and dirty lenses. "It's my fault."

"Nonsense, my good man!" Jake answered as cordially as he could. He gave the top of his spiky blonde hair a hopeful smile, not daring to invade his space any more than was required.

"No, Jake. He was absolutely right." Dirk's voice was barely more than a whisper. "I just thought…"

"Thought what?" Jake reached to put a hand on his shoulder, but his hand froze in midair, unsure.

Dirk saved him the trouble by turning back to the [ sky](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3wA90GSrFA), eyes up.

Jake sucked in a breath. Maybe it was the sun setting, but he thought he saw a tangerine color to Dirk's eyes. His reaction seemed to break Dirk of whatever train of thought he'd been carrying; it was as though he'd forgotten Jake was there.

"Oh, sorry… I guess you've never got a good look at my freaky orange peepers," Dirk laughed softly, barely more than a breath. He gave the dark-haired boy a wry smile.

"That's hardly the point, here, now, is it, chap?" Jake reminded him. For now, he would have to stow away the flood of questions he had about Dirk's fascinating ocular devices. Instead, Jake put on a serious face. "Let's hear it, now. Thought what?" Maybe by talking about it, Dirk could calm down, and they could get back to their usual banter. "Perhaps a bit of the old chatterbox will help clear the air?" he added lightly.

Dirk exhaled slowly through his nose and plopped down on the stoop. He patted the generous space beside him.

"I just thought that I could say something to make him stay," Dirk uttered quietly. Bitterness pervaded his speech.

"Come now, friend, he couldn't just le—"

"Nothing of what I said was true," Dirk cut him off, balling his fists. "I was stupid. Somehow, I thought if I… if I shed Rose in a bad light, I could get Dave to stick around."

"That's… that's what it was?" Jake asked, shocked. Dirk looked down at his knees, shaking his head and chuckling, not meeting Jake's gaze.

"Seems I wasn't ready for my little bro to grow up just yet, huh?"

Suddenly, Jake realized what it really meant to have a little brother. He couldn't imagine it, living his whole life like that, raising a miniature version of his almost-self. Dirk had, no doubt, spent every minute of every day, trying to raise Dave right, to bring out the best in him. He could bet that Dave once regarded Dirk as not only his brother, but his friend, his mentor, his… _hero_.

"I just feel like… somehow, I've failed. Like it's my fault, like I didn't do enough to prepare him for the real world. What kind of brother would that make me, if he gets hurt somehow?" Dirk's voice shook, and his friend saw the blonde's throat bob.

Jake's heart ached as though Dirk himself had been squeezing it.

"Dirk—" Jake began, but again he was cut off.

"It's okay, Jake. I don't expect you to say anything."

"Consarn it, Strider, would you _shut it_?" Jake snapped, his English-bred tongue resurfacing. Dirk stared at him in mild alarm.

"Dirk, he's still your bro! It's hardly the end of the world," Jake smiled reassuringly. "This is… this is just another grand adventure in the epic saga of the Striders."

Dirk's brows furrowed in confusion. Jake mentally kicked himself for his continual abuse of vague analogies.

"What I mean is, you two will always remain close. He's on to a new page, but you'll both share the same chapters. And botching it up a bit along the way is just one part of it. It's part of the grand adventure we call life, mate. Everyone has to grow up, Dirk, but it doesn't mean they grow away."

"That's the stupidest analogy I've ever heard," Dirk snorted, though Jake saw the white of a smile as the blonde clapped his forehead. "Except for that last part, that wasn't so bad."

"There's that chum of mine!" Jake crowed, slugging his shoulder. The two of them shared a good chuckle as the sun set below the houses across the street. He hopped off the porch to his feet, extending his arms outward on either side. "Hey, I've got an idea!"

Dirk gave him a shrewd look, chin in hand. "I shudder to think what's turning in that mess of gears called your brain."

"Oh, pish posh," Jake waved. "Why don't you come bunk with me? I've got a spare room, and maybe a change of scenery wi—"

Dirk raised a hand to silence him.

"Nah, stay here tonight. I could use the company."

Jake beamed. "That would be capital!"

"'Sides, you haven't ever seen the inside of my house, have you?"

Dirk's eyes settled on him. Jake wasn't sure why, but it gave him a good feeling.

"What a sodding lousy neighbor you are, D!" Jake mocked him. "I bloody well haven't."

"All right, c'mon in and let me show you the place."

So it was. Dirk pushed the key into the lock, wiggled it a bit, (explaining that it needed some elbow grease to unbolt), and opened the door. The foyer housed a decorative plant, a hanging lamp, and a few wall accents, including what appeared to Jake as 'artwork' done by Dave, age 13, but to him it looked like what could only be described as 'penis Ouija.'

Dirk waved lazily behind him, beckoning Jake forward. "Never mind that, Dave got into this ironic artistic battle with the Vantas' kid, Karson, down the street. They couldn't agree on what to draw. Had some pretty humorous results, but it's not important. Here, down this hall is the kitchen."

Jake chuckled and dutifully followed. He couldn't believe he was finally exploring his best bro's pad. It wasn't really anything to be excited about, he knew, but now he could at least put to rest any nagging or half-baked presumptions he once had. His beryl orbs roamed every inch of the white walls, the polished, dark wood flooring, and he caught a glimpse of one of the bathrooms on the way there. Everything was so… _clean_. If he hadn't known better, Jake would have thought the house was being shown for sale, rather than the home of a bachelor.

The kitchen was quite spacious. Jake let out a low whistle as they entered. If he had to guess, it must have taken up most of the ground floor, except for maybe the living room, which he hadn't yet seen. The cabinets were all frosted glass, with overhead lights within. The soft glow emitted by them was comforting. There was a kitchen island, fridge, stove, dishwasher, microwave, toaster, and a coffeemaker. All the appliances were black, in contrast with the white countertops and other surfaces. Upon closer inspection, Jake saw colorful magnets in the shapes of the alphabet on the fridge, which currently were tacking up Dirk's work schedule, a few hastily scrawled notes, and Dave's letter. Jake's gut twisted as his eyes fell on it, but now was not the time to dwell on matters that didn't directly concern him.

"It's a kitchen," Dirk shrugged, as if everyone had a kitchen like that. "I like to cook. Oh, and over here's the dining room, hang on."

A considerably smaller, cozier space housed the dining room. The table was also wood, painted black. Dirk hurriedly stood one of the chairs, which was knocked over, upright. Small shining, tinted shards were on the floor too, which he bent to scoop up. This must have been where he and Dave had their altercation. Jake imagined it had started in the kitchen, where Dirk had his younger brother's letter tacked up. It was not a pretty scene to visualize. He unconsciously bit his lower lip, but Dirk seemed not to notice, or maybe he just didn't care. With an easy bump, Dirk straightened the table as well.

On the far wall of the dining room hung more photos; one of them was of Dirk and Dave, smiling, but the glass was cracked. There was also a large bay window, curtains drawn aside with a pile of small cushions at the center. One of them had an odd lumpiness to it, as though used regularly. The window overlooked the yard, where there was a tree with a tire swing.

"Wow, Dirk, I never knew you kept up a shipshape place," Jake remarked, hands on his hips, nodding in approval. Dirk shrugged.

"I can't think straight if my surroundings aren't in order. C'mon, I'll show you the living room."

They turned a corner, back towards Jake's house, passing what looked like a game room; Jake saw a corner of a pool and foosball table, and a dartboard, and trekked upstairs. He was greeted by the couch and entertainment system he could see from his bedroom window. This time, though, he could see a tall shelf full of DVDs and CDs. Sweet Bro and Hell Jeff caught his eye. A large, plush beanbag dominated one side of the living room. It was currently occupied by a rainbow of the slightly creepy puppets Dirk kept lying around. A camcorder was among them.

"Sorry, I've been working on a side project," Dirk mumbled, stowing the camcorder on the shelf and tossing the smuppets unceremoniously into a basket near the TV. Jake thought he saw Dirk's face turn a little pink.

The room was much longer than what Jake could see from his room; the end of it stretched clear to the other side of the house. The remaining space of it held another small table with chairs, and a display of poker chips perched on top. Two doors were on either side of the table area. Dirk headed for the one on the left, hands in his pockets.

Jake expected an ironic sea of smuppets, apple juice, and Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff merchandise, neatly stacked and categorized like the rest of the house.

He was only partially right.

While spacious, Dirk's room was a mess. Clothes lay haphazardly everywhere, on the bed, the floor, and even over the wheeled desk chair in front of his computer. The desk was occupied by a drawing tablet, keyboard, and a bottle of apple juice. The computer itself was an Alienware brand. Perched on top of the monitor was a was a window behind the desk.

A wall shelf held an array of more DVDs and SBaHJ merchandise, games, and one smuppet. Directly below the shelf was Dirk's bed, unmade. It was a king, but couldn't stand up to the term 'bed,' as it looked more like a nest of pillows piled on top of a big mattress. Next to the bed was a nightstand with a lava lamp that doubled as an alarm clock. Across from the bed was a small open space, then a TV with an Xbox in front of it—Jake saw someone had humorously altered it to read 'SEXbox.'

Jake couldn't help but snort. "Whatever happened to 'not being able to think straight when surroundings aren't in order', Dirk?"

"Chaos is inspiration in the bedroom, English. You never know what'll come next," he replied smoothly. Dirk seemed to be regaining his smugness. "But, sorry about the mess. I rarely have company other than Roxy, and her favorite place is the kitchen." The blonde let the last remark hang in the air.

"Righto, well, I'd say you've got a swell place going for you," Jake said, straightening his glasses. Honestly, he did like Dirk's place. He felt a twinge of jealousy, even. With all that space, Dirk could easily entertain several guests if he wanted to.

"Thanks, it gets lonely, living in such a huge house all by myself," Dirk remarked, as though reading Jake's thoughts. "Anyway, it's getting late, so let me show you the guest room. It's just on the other end of the hall, here."

They exited through a second door next to the TV. It opened up to a short hallway, and there was a room on the left side at the end. On the side with Dirk's room was a lavatory. While plain, it housed a comfortable-looking bed, nightstand, wash bin with a mirror, and a window that overlooked the front yard. There were also a few more framed photos.

"Thanks, chap! This will do nicely," Jake said cheerily, patting the bed experimentally before hunkering down upon it. The blonde leaned against the doorframe.

"Don't mention it," Dirk smiled. "Oh, and I have some extra clothes you can borrow, if you want. I'm making breakfast tomorrow, too."

"Not to worry! I think I'm quite set, thank you."

Dirk shrugged and turned to leave, but called back.

"G'night, Jake."

"Pleasant dreams, Dirk."

Jake heard Dirk's door shut, and he sighed heavily. Poor guy. He made a mental note to treat him to something nice in the future as he pulled his shirt over his head, depositing it neatly on the nightstand. Jake vaguely noticed he had a sunburn.

Once he was comfortably situated in his shorts, he snuggled into the covers. They smelled like Dirk, and Jake found himself calmed by it.

That night, he dreamt again of chasing the eerily familiar figure, but this time, they stopped long enough for him to put his hand on their shoulder. They said something to him that Jake couldn't hear, but it sounded like they were asking for help.

They turned their head just as Jake woke.


End file.
